


5 Times The War Was Just Too Much (And 1 Time It Wasn’t)

by codenametargeter



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Azure Moon Route, F/F, I just want them to be happy, Minor Character Death, Post Timeskip, Post-War, dealing with the trauma of war, during Timeskip, please just let everyone in Fodlan go to therapy, touch starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:20:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24826696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/codenametargeter/pseuds/codenametargeter
Summary: The war that rages throughout Fódlan has left plenty of scars and not all of them are physical.Five moments during and after the war that Ingrid and Dorothea have to deal with the pain and trauma that the war has brought them. And one moment where they just get to be happy.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Ingrid Brandl Galatea
Comments: 1
Kudos: 38





	5 Times The War Was Just Too Much (And 1 Time It Wasn’t)

**1.**

“You look terrible.”

Ingrid laughs, the sound more of a bark than truly filled with mirth. “You don’t.” 

“Of course not,” Dorothea says, her laugh the same musical one its always been. “Have I ever?”

“No,” Ingrid says, cheeks flushing. It’s been years since they’ve seen each other and now all she can think about are those months of flirtation and soft kisses from before everything changed. She’s not silly enough to presume they are still anything anymore. It’s been years since they’ve seen each other and everything’s different. It makes sense that they would be too. 

Encountering Dorothea had been a pleasant surprise though. For ages now, Ingrid, Felix, and Sylvain have been roaming through Fódlan chasing rumors that they hope will eventually lead them to Dimitri. Cornelia said she’d executed him for murder but not everyone in Faerghus believed her especially since there hadn’t been a body. Felix in particular is hellbent on finding him. What they hadn’t expected to find was three other members of the Blue Lions, especially three who had once called the Black Eagle house their home. Once they’d realized they were all on the same side, even Felix had managed a smile. They’ve been on their own for a while and seeing Dorothea, Petra, and Ferdinand was a welcome change of pace; welcome enough that they’d all agreed to camp together for night. There is safety in numbers and Felix was eager to train with someone different which is exactly where everyone else is right now, leaving just Ingrid and Dorothea to sit beside the fire. 

“I wasn’t serious before.”

Ingrid blinks, jolted out of her thoughts. “What?”

“When I said you looked terrible,” Dorothea says. “I didn’t mean it.”

Looks are not something Ingrid has ever been terribly concerned about despite Mercedes and Annette’s best efforts to teach her about things like make up so she merely shrugs. “It’s fine. I’ve been covered in grime and eating rations for so long that I don’t think I even want to look in a mirror.” 

“We’re all a bit worse for the wear.” Carefully, Dorothea raises a hand and brushes at Ingrid’s hair, following a lock down to where it’s cut short at the nape of her neck. “Such a drastic change though. It’s like you and Ferdie swapped locks. Minus the color of course.”

She shrugs again. “It was too much of a hassle so I made Sylvain help me cut it off.”

“Better him than Felix, I suppose.”

“Who do you think cut his hair?”

It’s the first laugh they’ve shared since reuniting and it feels foreign. Laughing isn’t something she’s done much of since leaving the Academy even though Sylvain does his best. A knot inside her stomach unravels, one she hadn’t even realized had been there. This is the closest she’s felt to normal in ages. Or at least what she thinks is normal. It’s a hard concept to fathom.

Ingrid realizes how long she’s been quiet and so she offers a weak smile. “How have you been, Dorothea? I just realized that I don’t even know where you’ve been.”

Dorothea tightens her grip on her cup as she stares into the fire. “I went back to Enbarr, to the opera house. It was what I knew and I didn’t know where else to go. I hoped that Edie would let me be despite…” She trails off but she doesn’t need to finish the sentence. A moment later, she brightens but the expression reads just the tiniest bit false. “Anyways! Ferdie came and found me about six months ago. He’s been with dear Petra ever since we all had to scatter to the winds and helping her stay out of Edelgard’s grasp so she can’t be used against her grandfather. It’s gotten more difficult of late and he thought better who to join their little band than a diva who just happens to be a talented mage?”

“Do you miss the opera?”

“I’ve missed it before.”

It’s not an answer and Ingrid can tell there’s more to the story but she doesn’t press. 

With a little toss of her hair, Dorothea smiles and asks, “What about you? You must have some--” A branch snaps behind them and they both jump, Ingrid reaching for her sword and Dorothea’s hands glowing with magic. 

“Hey, it’s just me,” Sylvain says, holding up his hands in the universal gesture of surrender. He softens his tone a little. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”

Ingrid releases the hilt of her sword but she notices that Dorothea’s a little slower to let her spell dissipate. Even the songstress’s smile is somewhat strained as she says, “You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that, Sylvain. Not when there’s a war going on.” 

Sylvain nods and noticeably keeps his distance as he heads towards the pile of packs. “Just grabbing some water. Felix and Petra seem intent on beating the hell out of each other tonight.”

“Tell them to not actually hurt each other please,” Ingrid says.

“Yes, Mother,” Sylvain says with a wink before bolting out of the clearing before she can make a retort.

Dorothea shakes her head as she watches him go. “Some people never change, I suppose.” 

“Only in some ways.”

There’s some surprise in her eyes as she turns back to look at Ingrid. “Yes. I suppose you’re right.” Almost impossibly slowly, she raises a hand towards Ingrid’s face and caresses her cheek. Despite herself, Ingrid leans into the touch. It’s like a shock through her body and she inhales sharply at the sensation. This is, she realizes, the first time she’s been touched in months and she hadn’t realized how much she’s missed this basic human contact. Apparently she’s not being subtle about it though because Dorothea asks, “Is this alright?”

Ingrid nods, scared of how she might crumble if she moves her hand away. Instead, she raises her own hand up and lays it on top of Dorothea’s, curling her fingers around her wrist. Dorothea shifts closer to her, intent clear so it’s no surprise when she gently presses her lips against Ingrid’s. And for a moment, it’s perfect and lovely and she can feel the years start to melt away but just as quickly, she feels them slam back again and she just _can’t_ and jerks away. “I’m sorry, I can’t,” Ingrid says, moving so they’re not touching anymore and then she looks at the ground because it’s easier. 

“No, I shouldn’t have assumed,” Dorothea says. “It’s been four years. Of course you’ve moved on. It’s not like we made any promises.”

“No! It’s not that.” It’s suddenly important to her that Dorothea knows this and so Ingrid looks up to make sure she knows she means it but it makes it harder to keep going. Thankfully, Dorothea stays quiet, giving her time so Ingrid takes advantage of it. She manages three steady breaths that make a world of difference. “I thought I could but then when you kissed me, all I could think about was how you’ll be gone again tomorrow and I just…”

“I understand.”

“You do?”

Dorothea nods. “I do. This has been… it’s taken a lot from all of us. I understand not wanting to lose more.”

She doesn’t feel like either of them are saying exactly what they mean yet she gets the feeling that they both understand each other. It’s a relief. They sit together in silence for a few minutes, one that gradually grows more comfortable as the tension flows away. The only sound is the clash of swords and shouts from where the rest are sparring. Ingrid places her hand in the space between them, palm up in invitation. After a few seconds, Dorothea accepts it, twining their fingers together. She feels that spark again but not the panic from when they kissed. Slowly but surely, they move a little closer together until their sides are pressed against each other and Dorothea can press a soft kiss into her hair that Ingrid feels like is just enough.

The sounds of their friends’ training has faded and has been replaced by increasingly louder conversation. This oasis of peace will end soon. Ingrid hesitates and then speaks before she can lose her nerve. “Dorothea, would you… stay with me tonight?” 

Both of the other woman’s eyebrows shoot up and instantly, Ingrid flushes. Dorothea says, “This isn’t a no but you’re giving me something of mixed signals here, Ingrid.”

“Not for-- I didn’t mean-- I just…” Ingrid fumbles over her words. “I just don’t want to be alone.” Dorothea doesn’t reply immediately and so she fumbles for some more. “You don’t have to. I’ll be fine if you--I understand why you--”

“Shh.” She places a single finger against Ingrid’s lips and waits until she’s quiet before speaking again. “Of course I will.” 

When they sleep curled up together that night, it’s the safest they’ve both felt in ages. It makes it hurt all the more when they have to go their separate ways.

  
  


**2.**

Ingrid manages to keep her relieved smile in place until she rounds a corner and is out of sight of her friends. Then her shoulders slump forward and she lets out a shaky little breath. Her legs manage to hold her until she’s out of earshot too and then they buckle beneath her and she’s on her knees, arms wrapping around herself. 

She doesn’t understand why she feels like this. If anything, she should be happy. Both their professor and their king have been returned to them on the same day after years of being presumed dead. (Felix was the only one who’d always kept faith.) It is the first day in a long time that she feels she has any cause for hope.

But hope is not enough.

The Dimitri who stood in front of them was not the Dimitri they have been desperately seeking for the last five years. And while the last five years have taken a toll on all of them, she doesn’t recognize the man she grew up with and thinks of as a brother. The Dimitri she knew had kindness in his heart along with the darkness they’d all seen in Remire. She’s not sure if there’s anything left of that kindness now. It hurts as much as finding his corpse might have.

“Pull yourself together,” she whispers to herself. “You’re a part of House Galatea and your king needs you.” Maybe if she says it enough, she’ll believe it. 

It’s not working. 

“Ingrid? What are you doing down there?”

She knows that voice anywhere and scrambles to say, “I’m fine. I just dropped something.” 

“It must be something small and difficult to find then.” 

There’s no avoiding looking at Dorothea now since she’s crouched down by her. This is the first time they’ve been alone together since their entire class reunited and it sets off an entire chain of fresh emotions within Ingrid that clash with the ones that were already there and she feels nauseous. She attempts a smile and then curls one hand into a fist, miming putting something small back into a belt pouch. “It’s fine. I had just found it.” 

“Well that’s a relief then.”

Ingrid knows she should get up. That’s the logical thing to do to sell her story. Get up and walk off and pretend she’s nothing but happy to have Dimitri and the Professor both back. _Get up get up GET UP._

“Ingrid?” Dorothea rests a hand on her arm so delicately that she can barely feel it. “Are you alright?”

“I-”

“And please don’t say fine.” 

She draws in a shaky breath. “I’m fine because I have to be.” 

Dorothea raises her hand to tuck a lock of hair behind Ingrid’s ear. “We’re in the middle of a war. None of us have to be fine.” 

It’s hard to explain this to someone who isn’t one of their childhood group. How do you explain twenty-three years of a bond that sometimes feels like it transcends friendship? They’ve been together for so long that sometimes she feels like a part of the whole instead of an individual. She’s part of what keeps them together and now that they’re all _finally_ together again and if either Felix or Sylvain see her waiver… “It’s not just about me. So I’m fine.”

“Ingrid,” Dorothea says so deliberately that Ingrid has no choice but to listen. “I’m not one of those Faerghan boys.”

Okay. So maybe she doesn’t need to explain it. 

“Although sitting like this is killing my ankles so perhaps we could…” She waves towards a nearby bench. 

“Oh. Of course.” Her knees creak a little as she clambers to her feet and then offers Dorothea a hand, drawing her to stand too. 

“Ever so chivalrous,” Dorothea says as they move over to the bench. 

Ingrid doesn’t let go of her hand once they sit and Dorothea doesn’t pull hers away. This’ll probably end up being an awkward conversation later but she doesn’t have enough in her right now to worry about it. Instead, she takes the time to try and get her thoughts into order. “I’m happy we’ve finally found Dimitri and that he’s alive. But seeing him like this was…” She chokes on the rest of her words as that feeling of despair returns. 

“He’s been through quite a lot. That much is clear.”

“Yes. I just…” Ingrid shakes her head. “I can’t. Talk about it, I mean.” Something on her cheek is wet and so she looks up at the skies in confusion. It’s not raining so why is there… Oh. She sniffs and blots her unexpected tears before saying as firmly as she can manage, “I'll be fine, Dorothea. I promise.” 

Dorothea squeezes her hand but stays quiet and she’s grateful for it. Maybe, Ingrid thinks, this is what she needs. Just one night to feel like this before she pulls herself together tomorrow and presents the brave front expected of her. There’s a war to fight and they finally have a chance.

She’ll be fine. 

  
  
  


**3.**

Ingrid finds her kneeling on the battlefield well after victory has been declared at Fort Merceus.

“Oh Caspar,” Dorothea murmurs, gently brushing strands of his blue hair back from where they are matted to his face with sweat and blood. She pays no attention to the mud that stains her dancer’s dress. 

Ingrid crouches down beside her, laying a hesitant hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Dorothea looks up, tears brimming in her green eyes. “Are any of us?”

The question hits her like a javelin to the shoulder. Are they? Sometimes, she thinks the answer is no. So she tries again. “I meant, are you injured?”

“I’ll be fine,” she says, turning her gaze back down to Caspar. He doesn’t look back; his blue eyes stare unseeing up at the sky. “It didn’t have to be like this.”

Ingrid doesn’t say anything because she doesn’t know what she _can_ say. She’s always been loyal to Faerghus and thus she never had to make a choice like those who started their time at the Officers’ Academy outside of the Blue Lions. She can’t truly understand the pain of facing a former housemate on the field of battle. All she can do right now is listen. 

From somewhere, Dorothea produces a clean handkerchief and then she frowns. “Do you have a canteen with you?” 

“Here.” She hands it over. Dorothea only takes it long enough to wet the cloth square before handing it back. Ingrid shakes her head. “You should drink something.” The sip she takes is more perfunctory than anything but it’s better than nothing so Ingrid doesn’t press the point for now. 

Humming softly to herself, Dorothea starts to clean the grime from Caspar’s face. Centimeter by centimeter, slowly he starts to look more like the boy they once knew. Her humming becomes quiet singing. If Ingrid strains, she can make out a few of the lyrics, “...words carried upon the ocean breeze… beneath the tide.” 

Ingrid clears her throat. “That song you’re singing… what is it?”

Dorothea looks up. “What? Oh, it’s just… it’s a song from one of the coastal cities of the Empire. I heard it once and it stayed with me.” 

“It’s pretty.”

“It’s tragic.”

“It can be both.” Ingrid winces and wishes she hadn’t said that but she can’t take it back now. Dorothea returns to her work which is almost done but she’s just humming now and not actually singing. She tries again. “It’s not your fault.” Dorothea’s shoulders tense and then she freezes and immediately Ingrid starts fumbling for the right thing to say again. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to--”

“But you see, it _is_ my fault,” Dorothea says, breaking through her apologies. The tears are gone from her eyes, replaced by nothing but self loathing. She shifts so she isn’t blocking Ingrid’s view of Caspar’s torso anymore and gestures towards the brutal, gaping wound there. By now, Ingrid’s seen enough battle magic to recognize it for what it is: a work of a Thoron spell. Dorothea speaks again before Ingrid can say anything. “I didn’t hesitate when the time came. And I can use the excuse that he was threatening my life or even the one that he was fighting against our cause but at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter. A death is a death.” 

This is another thing Ingrid can’t understand. She can imagine but she can never really know. And so she opts to stay quiet this time because everything she’s said so far has made a mess of things. 

After a few moments, she turns back to Caspar’s body and starts to rearrange his arms to hide the wound, cleaning the blood and grime from his hands too. A moment after that, she starts humming again although Ingrid’s not entirely sure she’s aware she’s doing it. 

This is the first time in awhile that she’s felt this helpless and Ingrid hates that she can do nothing but silently watch. After a few minutes, an idea comes to her and she voices it before she can second guess herself. “We should give him a proper burial. Linhardt too.”

Dorothea blinks. “What?”

“Well, more like a pyre than a burial…” She furrows her brow. “Is that permitted in Adrestia? We burn bodies in Faerghus when proper interment isn’t possible.”

“It’s permitted…” Dorothea says slowly, looking around the battlefield around them like she’s seeing beyond Caspar for the first time. “Is there enough time?”

“I’ll help. Others will too,” Ingrid says firmly. This is, at least, is something she can do. 

In the end, it’s just a handful of their fellow Blue Lions who help haul enough wood over to build a pyre. (Maybe she doesn’t give Sylvain a choice even though he probably would have helped anyways. Maybe.) All of the former Black Eagles help which doesn’t surprise her. Dorothea insists on helping Ferdinand lift Caspar’s body to lay it upon the pyre, carefully arranging his limbs again to hide the wound. When Sylvain and Petra lay Linhardt beside him, she realizes that she doesn’t even know who killed him. She was on the opposite side of the battlefield, likely high up in the air on her pegasus. 

The bodies now arranged, everyone hesitates, not sure what to do next. Dorothea takes a deep breath and quietly says, “Step back.” She gives everyone a moment to comply before murmuring a few words and releasing a fire spell. It’s only a few moments more before the pyre is enveloped in flames and she steps back beside Ingrid. 

Their hands brush against each other and Ingrid hesitates before moving her hand closer again, not sure if she’s done the wrong thing again. But then Dorothea takes her hand and squeezes it tightly, banishing her fears. As the flames grow higher, she chances a look towards Dorothea and sees the tears flowing down her face freely now as she watches the bodies burn.

One by one, their friends slowly walk away until only Dorothea and Ingrid are left. “The song,” Dorothea says suddenly. “Do you know how it ends?”

Ingrid shakes her head. “No.”

Raising her chin ever so slightly, Dorothea starts to sing in a clearer voice than she would have expected. “I heard across a moonlit sea the old voice warning me. Beware, beware of me.” As the last note floated up into the air, it seems to take Dorothea’s strength with it and she crumples, Ingrid just barely catching her. 

Together, they melt towards the ground and Ingrid cradles Dorothea to her chest as she cries, sobs shaking her shoulders. And finally, Ingrid has clarity. There are no words she can say that will help nor anything else she can do. All she can do is let Dorothea cry and hold her through this and hope that once this war is over, none of them ever have to do anything like this ever again. 

  
  


**4.**

The war has been over for two years and sometimes she can’t sleep. 

It’s happened often enough now that Ingrid can recognize what’s happening to herself even if she can’t stop it. She’ll find herself gripping the back of a chair hard enough to hurt as she stares into the air, overwhelmed by memories she wishes she didn’t have. She snaps at those who are undeserving and she can’t concentrate on anything useful. It always leads to her pacing the ramparts in the dead of night, sometimes staring at a spot in the distance that she knows is clean but is stained with blood in her mind’s eye. 

“My darling, it’s me.” Dorothea’s voice is quiet and she stays several meters away. She learned the hard way the first time this happened that startling Ingrid when she’s like this can go poorly. In this case, poorly means her face gets pressed against the stones and her arm twisted back behind her because Ingrid’s body reacts like they’re still at war before her brain can catch up. 

Ingrid takes two deep breaths before she turns to look at her. “I’m here.” 

Dorothea closes the distance between them but not completely, lingering an arm’s length away. It’s nothing personal and if anything, Ingrid’s grateful for the space. After two years, they know what’s best for each other during times like this. Dorothea wants to be held and soothed. Ingrid often can’t handle being touched. 

They stand in silence for a few minutes before Ingrid says, “You didn’t have to come.”

“I know.”

Ingrid tries again. “You can go back to bed if you want.

Dorothea asks, “Do you want me to?” 

Biting her lip, she takes a moment before she says, “Not necessarily.” There’s a beat of silence. “It’s late. One of us should get some sleep.”

Turning to face her, Dorothea leans against the rampart. The message is clear but she says, “Oh who needs sleep at this hour? It’s much more diva like behavior if I lounge about until noon.”

Despite herself, Ingrid laughs. “Never change, my love.” 

“I hardly intend to,” she says with a wink. They stand there in as close to comfortable silence as Ingrid can manage during nights like this before Dorothea finally asks, “Would you like to talk about it?” 

Ingrid thinks about it for a minute because sometimes it does help especially if there’s a particular battle or event that feels like it’s been haunting her but there hasn’t been one tonight. She shakes her head. “No thank you. It’s just…” She shrugs helplessly. “It’s just.” 

“It’s just,” Dorothea echoes back to her. It’s not a question though, it’s understanding of what the war had done to each of them every single day.

That doesn’t stop Dorothea from having to hasten to hide a yawn behind her hand and Ingrid manages a tight smile. “This is silly. You should go back to bed. I’ll be fine.”

She doesn’t bother trying to hide her next yawn. “I’d ask you to try and get some sleep but…” Instead of leaning forward to press a kiss against her lips like she might usually do, Dorothea instead blows her a kiss and smiles. “I love you, my Ingrid.”

“I love you too,” Ingrid says. She watches Dorothea as she makes her way off the ramparts and back into the palace until she’s completely out of sight. She counts backwards from ten and then resumes her pacing path around the ramparts. The war is done but she still carries it with her and some days, it is heavier than others. And so she walks and walks, nodding to the guards she passes who know her habits as she tires out her body so that she might at last rest and sleep a dreamless sleep.

The war is over, she reminds herself. The war is over.   
  
  


**5.**

The war has been over for three years and still she sometimes wakes up screaming. 

“Shh, shh, I’ve got you, my love,” a voice says.

It’s dark and all she can see is the blood on her hands. Goddess, there’s so much of it…

She doesn’t even realize she’s still screaming until the voice says again, “You’re safe, it’s over. You don’t have to fight anymore. Shh, it’s alright.”

Dorothea blinks again and she remembers where she is. When she is. “I’m sorry,” she says, voice hoarse. 

Ingrid shakes her head even as she continues to run a soothing hand through her hair. “You have nothing to apologize for. You never do.” 

Blinking, she grasps at air for a moment before she finds Ingrid’s free arm and clutches at it like a lifeline. Somehow, they shift in the bed until Ingrid’s sitting up and cradling Dorothea against her chest even as the songstress keeps taking big shuddering breaths as she tries to bring herself back to the present. Ingrid’s murmured mantra helps some. _You’re safe. You’re with me. The war is over._ Eventually when she opens her eyes and looks down, she only sees her pale hands that look almost white in the moonlight. 

A moment later, the rest of her nightmare comes back to her and Dorothea yanks herself out of Ingrid’s arms, almost wrenching her back as she turns to make sure her lover is whole. Clothing is pushed aside until she can assure herself there is no blood staining Ingrid’s skin either. All that’s there on her torso is a jagged white scar that healed long ago. 

Slowly, Ingrid raises one of her hands and brushes hair back from Dorothea’s face, following it all the way down before repeating the process several times over. The sensation helps as much as her murmured words had before. Seeing the scar helps too. It’s proof that the nightmares that plagued her are in the past and so Dorothea ducks her head down and kisses it lightly. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Ingrid resumes running her fingers through Dorothea's hair. 

She doesn’t but she knows it helps. “I saw… you. At the Great Bridge of Myrddin.” That won’t be a surprise. That battle was the one where Ingrid got knocked from her pegasus by enemy archers and took a nasty axe wound to the stomach that might have killed her if Mercedes hadn’t been nearby. She wants to forget the sight of Ingrid lying there on the ground in what seemed like a pool of blood but she can’t. Instead, she dreams sometimes and wakes up screaming. (It’s not the only sight that haunts her.) 

Ingrid’s expression grows somewhat pensive as she brushes her fingertips against her own scar.

“I know it’s in the past but…” Dorothea looks away. “There was so much blood. And some of it is on my hands.”

She doesn’t mean it literally even though she remembers what it felt like to look down and see her own hands covered in Ingrid’s blood but her lover seems to understand. Instead, Ingrid takes one of her hands and brushes her lips against her knuckles. “You never have to again. I promise.”

Perhaps at another time, she might be tempted to push back at that assertion even though she’s heard it before but right now, it feels safe. She is safe here. The next breath she lets out is a big one and she feels herself start to relax a little. Leaning up, she presses her lips against Ingrid’s cheek. “I’m sorry I woke you, darling.” 

“Don’t be,” Ingrid said, pulling her close. They resettle themselves on the bed into something closer to how they’d gone to sleep that night with Dorothea curled up on her side and Ingrid wrapped around her. “What do you need?” she murmurs in her ear.

“Nothing,” Dorothea says, letting her eyes flutter shut again. “Just you here with me.”

Ingrid says, “I can do that.”

As she drifts back off to sleep, Dorothea knows the nightmares likely won’t take her again that night. They’ll be back another night but not tonight. It’s something at least.

**+1**

The war is over. The need to fight sporadic battles will not be for several years more but for now, the war is over and it is enough. 

Ingrid picks her way through the battlefield, keeping her eyes open for Empire soldiers who might want to continue the fight and for the fallen bodies of her friends. She hopes to find neither but she has learned to keep her expectations low after the last six years. This war has taken so much from them all that sometimes it feels impossible to have hope. But she tries. 

And if anything, the sight of Dimitri and the Professor victorious over Edelgard should help some. It makes it feel all the more real. 

She spots Mercedes first, the woman on her knees beside someone as she tends to their wounds, selfless as always. Carefully, she makes her way over, not sure what she can do but she wants--no, _needs_ to see a friend right now. 

“Hello, Ingrid,” Mercedes says, not looking up from the bandage she’s finished tying.

“Hello, Mercedes,” Ingrid replies, crouching down beside her and trying to ignore how her knees creak. She’s only 23. She’s too young for her body to be making those sounds already but then again… “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Mercedes speaks to her patient first. “Keep your weight off of it as much as you can for the next few days and change the bandages at least twice a day.”

“Thank you, milady,” the soldier says. Another soldier lingers nearby to help. 

Wiping her hands on a clean part of her dress, Mercedes rises to her feet and Ingrid follows her. “That’s kind of you to offer but I’m not sure you’ll be much help with this sort of thing.” 

In the mouth of someone else, the words might have felt cruel but from Mercedes they just feel matter of fact. Ingrid knows enough about healing to bandage a wound to stop the bleeding but she’s never had any talent for faith magic. Mercedes, on the other hand, is more skilled at both than almost any one she’s ever known. Before she can say anything further, she hears the familiar voice she’s been longing for.

“Mercedes, this is everything the healers were willing to give me and then perhaps a little more,” Dorothea says.

Ingrid spins around, heart just about leaping out of her chest as she sees Dorothea standing there, a heavy satchel over her shoulder. Her dancer’s dress looks a bit worse for the wear and there’s both blood and mud maring the picture but a quick assessment assures Ingrid that her injuries are mostly superficial. 

Dorothea’s breath catches as she sees Ingrid before her. Extending out the satchel, she says, “Mercedes, if you wouldn’t mind being a dear and--”

That’s all she has time to say and Mercedes just barely has enough time to grab the satchel before Ingrid sweeps Dorothea off her feet in the tightest hug she’s ever given another person, spinning her around. The laugh she lets out isn’t one of mirth but rather one of happiness and relief. 

“My Ingrid!” Dorothea says in her ear with that same sense of happiness and relief. Ingrid sets her down again but doesn’t let her go. They pull back enough so that they might look at each other. “I worried,” she says, “every minute you were out of my sight.”

Ingrid shakes her head and reaches up with both hands to brush Dorothea’s hair back. Words tumble out from her lips. “I’m fine. I promise, I’m fine.”

“We’re both fine,” Dorothea says, wrapping her fingers around Ingrid’s right wrist. Fine, of course, is a relative term. Maybe they don’t know how the war will follow them for years yet but they know there’s no walking away from it completely unscathed but for now, they are both in one piece and that feels like enough. 

Ingrid draws Dorothea’s lips to hers into a soft kiss that becomes more as Dorothea’s fingers tangle in her short hair, the braids long since given over to knots and mess. Usually, she hates such public displays of affection but right now she doesn’t care because they are alive and they are together and they longer have to worry that this next battle might be their last day. 

She doesn’t know how long they kiss for; only that it feels like she’s holding the whole world in her arms as she does but eventually, their lips part and they remember that they stand on a battlefield. Mercedes has long since moved on to her next patient. Ingrid flushes pink as she realizes that people have definitely been staring at them but she tries to push those feelings of embarrassment down because she knows they can’t possibly be the only couple reuniting like this. It’s hard to feel embarrassed when Dorothea is looking at her like that. Ingrid licks her lips. “We should probably find the others.”

“Probably,” Dorothea agrees. “I’m sure the Professor will want to know we have all survived.”

Ingrid untangles her limbs from Dorothea’s and then extends a hand towards her with a nervous little smile. “Walk with me, love?”

“Always,” Dorothea says, twining their fingers together. 

The war is over and they are together and it is enough. 

**Author's Note:**

> The change in Dorothea's lines after the time skip really stood out to me and broke my heart a little. They're part of what ended up inspiring this piece. 
> 
> I'm not going to pretend that I'm an expert on trauma or PTSD. I did a bit of research into it but I do not claim to have done comprehensive research. Any errors here are completely my fault and if I screwed anything up, I sincerely apologize. 
> 
> And finally, the song in the 3rd section is actually from [World of Warcraft](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tjJYxCxzVe4). I found myself humming it while working on that bit and just... committed the rest of the way and used some of its lyrics too. It's a really gorgeous song that I recommend listening to if you've got the time.


End file.
